Understanding Inheritance
by reibish
Summary: Revised 11.16.05! Something happened and Charlie just can't seem to move on. Please read AN inside.


**_AN: _** This is my first ever CatCF fic. Any feedback/reviews I get strongly affect the appearance of further installments. If you liked it, hated it, whatever, _please_ tell me! There is quite a bit more to this tale, but if you want to know what happens next, I need to know what you thought of it so far!

I put the years in only so nobody gets lost, although please be warned, there are quite a bit of year-changes in this story, but I don't always mark when you return to the current year the story is set in. I do have confidence that I wrote the flow of the story so that these indications aren't even neccessary, which is why there are so few of them. In the same train of thought, the emphasis on the date I keep repeating in here is in the actual story. If you think really hard (hint: think when Charlie shows his family the Golden Ticket) you can see why it is such an important day of the year.

Also, there are a few things that might seem off...missed details, mistakes, etc...chances are they're deliberate...but you won't know why unless I submit another installment! Buahaha.

****One more thing: I hate the title of this story, but it's not going to be changed.

**_11.16.05: _**Très, mucho, _many_ thanks to my beta, **_Piscaria_**! Also thanks to **Gyspy Feet **and **candysweets** for your reviews. You boosted my ego considerably :D This is the revised version, which I hope everyone will enjoy even more. **Island Hopper**, thank you! I think the reason darker stories are so interesting is because the movie is so damn happy. I'm sure you will love the upcoming chapters.

_**UNDERSTANDING INHERITANCE**_

_Part One_

_**2023**_

Charlie sighed and threw himself back in the chair with exasperation, covering his face with his large, worn hands as his creativity did as it had done many nights prior and shut itself off; Charlie's muse needing its beauty rest that could last for weeks. Once he could feel the throbbing in his skull from all the work and exhaustion, no longer numb or warm and tingly from the hours he would spend creating new marvelous confections, Charlie knew it was time to wander aimlessly around the factory before actually slipping quietly into his room for the night.

This night was much like the others as Charlie--who now went by as Charles or, if the Loompas were in a particular mood, L.W. (Little Wonka)--finally eased out of his chair, feeling joints grind and bones creak. Instantly, as he stood up, the throbbing became a searing pain. Charlie swore chainsaws were multiplying inside his ever-sore head as he crept out of the room; he always felt as if he had to tip-toe everywhere. He lazily reached for a small experimental chocolate throat drop to suck on during his wanderings, the only thing that seemed to cure his headaches these days, despite their intended use. The drops were safe for consumption, Charles had just not bothered to develop them for mass release. They'd been in their final testing stage for just over five years.

At a mere twenty-eight years old, Charles felt eighty. He thought back to five years ago when he only felt sixty, however that age progression had come on in half a second, and since then, nothing has ever relieved his all-over aches. Some were so deep inside, he thought, that even after he passed on, he'd always feel sick to his stomach.

Shutting the vault door with the slightest boom that echoed in the steel underground cave, the heir gazed over the rushing chocolate river, thinking about all the changes his life had undergone, and wondering which were real and which were all in his head. After everything, not one thing had changed inside the factory. The chocolate room had never been sweeter, more delectable, or even so darn good-looking. The waterfall never stopped making its fresh chocolate so frothy, and none of the beakers in the inventing room ever stopped bubbling and smelling so wonderful. Nor did any of the ideas cooking in Charles' brain cease to pop up, only they were much more selective now. He felt his brain run into a mental brick wall as the sweet lozenge rolled over his well-conditioned tongue. The throat drops had been the last project he and Willy had made any progress on, together.

The factory required absolutely no extra maintenance, and aside from one day of silence, the Oompa Loompas hardly seemed to notice any change in personnel. But Charles noticed, in more than just sight and memory. Everything he touched seemed to make his heart wrench and although there were fewer people in the factory now, he felt an immense pressure of over-crowding slow him down, as if he were constantly fighting an ever-growing amount of foot traffic going in the other direction, no matter which way he went. He was lost, in almost every sense of the word aside from the most common usages. The only thing that held L.W. together was the candymaking, always striving for his mentor's approval, which Wonka had been happy to offer increasingly as the years stretched on.

A very small smile was brought to his face as the bright magenta seahorse-shaped boat rushed to the small catwalk, the Loompas knowing exactly when Charles was done each night. It stopped with an unreal grace and ease, and Charles stepped gingerly onto the craft, sitting in the very center of the back row, just as he had every time he ever rode the boat, which was pretty much at least once a day. The boat was just as shiny and awe-inspiring as the day he'd first laid eyes on it.

Now in his position, he thought about where he wanted to go as the Loompas patiently awaited a command, neither expecting of or apathetic to Charles.

He suddenly felt warm. True, Charles always had a bit of lukewarmth to him, just barely proving he still had a heartbeat, but this was a warmth that he had not felt in so long, it was almost new. Gentle and very subtle...for a few moments he even felt comfortable, inside and out.

With nowhere else to go, it seemed, he simply asked to be taken back to his room. As the boat pushed off and caught the current of the river, the heir looked at the empty seat to his right, which had been empty for so many a moon. Charles had never sat in that spot. Despite being Wonka's equal, and after everything had happened and finally set in, he never fully stepped up to the plate. Sure, it was with surprising ease that he took over the executive duties which he had only assisted in before. It was as if Willy had pushed him into the role, keeping his hands on Charlie's shoulders and not letting him turn around to run away or ask for assistance. Charles was sure if that feeling hadn't been there, it was likely the factory would have gone under for good. It had taken months for him to accept that, according to Willy's...well, _will_, Charles was now the sole propietor. The whole process had upset all involved parties quite a bit, nearly causing indefinite production hiatus more than once.

Completely lost in his thoughts, Charles jumped at the last boom of the drum, signaling the end of his journey. Silently he stood up and lightly stepped out of the boat, onto the soft grass of the chocolate room. This was not his final destination; however it was the furthest the Loompas could take him by boat.

It seemed to take hours to cross the room. He made his way to an unnoticeable door next to the waterfall, he quietly slid inside. Inside the door was a modern-looking foyer, with two sets of double doors, each leading to Charles' and Willy's rooms. Charles' pretended that the doors on the right did not exist, and quickly went into his own. Just before he stepped through the threshold he felt that warm feeling disappear, as if it were detaching itself from Charles' presence to retire for the night into Willy's room.

Charles whirled around, a flicker of hope and confusion, only to see and feel nothing. He was tempted to enter through the doors neighboring his own, but nobody had been through those doors in almost five years. Almost precisely five years. The only personal room of Wonka's that Charles had ever adopted as his own was the office, only accessible via the Great Glass Elevator. But it had been a few days since he'd been in there last.

Attempting to forget the anomaly, Charles groaned to himself as he remembered he had some paperwork to catch up on, and decided he would have to spend a few hours in the office the following morning. Finally inside his own room, a comfortable but cool-colored room with soft blues, whites and grays, he realized what tomorrow was.

February first.

The next morning, Charles awoke with a start. He wasn't quite sure what had woken him up, aside from the date. For twelve years, this date had practically replaced his birthday, considering his actual birthday wasn't even two weeks prior. It was the only day that Mr. Wonka had ever practiced any sort of celebration ritual, and Charlie knew it was pretty much just for his own enjoyment, as Willy hated any interruption in the patternless operation of the factory. However, every February first, there would be something different about the day. Perhaps a surprise batch of new fudge flavors left on the nightstand, or a contract that would be presented to him over lunch that would show mutual ownership of a new patent between the two. Always something new.

However, on the morning of the twelfth February First they spent together, the heir woke up to Wonka standing at the foot of his bed, holding his cane out at an angle in expectation like he always did, violet-blue eyes gazing quietly around the room. Freshly twenty three-year old Charlie blinked a few times, not quite awake, never making a sound. However, the chocolatier had sensed his apprentice's groggy gaze and looked at Charlie, a smile instantly gluing itself to his face.

"Ah, good, you're up! Now, hurry up and get dressed my dear little Charlie, no dillying or dallying! We have some important business to tend to today."

With that, he rapped on Charlie's feet through the covers with his cane and giggled to himself, leaving the room to allow Charlie to dress without another word.

Charles now shook the memory from his head and reluctantly threw the covers off himself, expecting a chill that had been there every morning for the last five years, but there was once again that familiar warmth. The words Willy had said that morning echoed inside Charles' head especially clearly today, almost as if they'd just been spoken again. It must have just been his memory, especially sensitive today. But as he was heading over to his wardrobe, that warm feeling once again seemed to hold itself in one spot, and once again faded, feeling like someone was walking away. Charles stopped in his tracks, and gave a sideways glance to where the sensation was coming from. On a whim, he looked down at the spot on the carpet that Willy had stood on that day, and could swear he saw a familiar but faint boot print depress itself from the thick carpeting.

Dressing, Charles normally stuck to plain business or casual attire, aside from gloves a powdery dark periwinkle hue that he wore when he was working on new candies. He'd never really had the personality or gregariousness Willy had to wear those flashy velvet and silk suits. Once, before Willy understood that Charlie just didn't like it, there'd been an overcoat made to replicate Willy's for Charlie. He'd worn it a few times, and it looked great, it just wasn't his style. The coat now hung in Charles' armoire. It swayed slightly on the hanger, swinging to its own innocent rhythm. Charles felt a lump rising in his throat at the sight of the coat. He squashed the lump by slamming the wardrobe shut and squeezing his eyes shut, as if he could will the garment into non-existance.

Wordlessly, the chocolatier's successor stepped out of his room, grabbing the huge keyring as he did so. Just outside his door was a call button for the elevator, he pressed it and waited next to the waterfall, watching it mix the chocolate into a state of light and frothyness in a trance.

_**2018**_

_"Now my dear boy," Willy finally continued, a phrase which he either didn't know or didn't care--probably the latter--annoyed the living whangdoodle dung out of Charlie, who was neither little or a boy. Just having turned twenty three, Charlie was now a grown man, and Wonka would be lucky if he could stand on his tippy-toes to see over Charlie's head, even without his always-messy sandy hair. All the years of trotting after the chocolatier had kept the heir in good shape, easily enough to take him on and win swiftly. However, Willy hardly ever seemed to recognize that Charlie matured, as it appeared that Wonka himself never aged. If Charlie's calculations (or Grandpa Joe's recollections) were correct, Willy had to be at least sixty five years old by now. _Never uses the Wonkavite for himself, my foot! _Charlie would often think to himself._

_"I have to go to Loompaland today. I'll only be gone for a few...erm...days. A week. Something about a new eager generation of Oompa Loompas..." They stepped into the elevator at the same time, Willy miraculously not running into anything. A button was pressed, the pleasant ding was heard as the doors closed, and off they whizzed to the head office._

_Charlie thought this most unusual. Willy would never admit that it was deliberate, but he conveniently never had any of his business travel occur on or disrupt February First. The heir furrowed his brow at the thought, but didn't say anything. It wouldn't have mattered to Willy either way if he said anything. Not outwardly. Mentioning something that had gone unmentioned, just like so many other little 'things', the past twelve years and bringing it to Willy's attention would likely throw him into a funk of silence, or into a rage which would make him boil up the spiciest, most painful candies that could last for weeks. Charlie had only upset Willy like that once before, and he cared not to do it again. It would be nearly six months before he'd attempt tasting a cin-o-mint._

_Charlie hadn't even realized he'd been in such deep thought for the entire ride that when the pair arrived at the head office he didn't even step out of the elevator. A quick whack to the head from Willy's cane brought Charlie back to earth._

_"Hello? Boy? Here, take these," there was a rustling and a series of jingles, then Charlie felt something heavy hanging from his left hand. Bringing it up into view, he saw the massive keyring that Wonka carried with him everywhere. "I'll have no use for them while I'm gone." Charlie was even more confused now. He had his own keyring, identical except for it only had about two-thirds of the keys Willy's had. However, he'd managed just fine with his own set when Willy was on one of his business trips._

_Finally standing on the vanilla-scented (and probably flavored, although Charlie had never bothered to try, or ask) carpet, the events from the past fifteen minutes had left him rather...anxious, almost. He leaned against his desk, studying the keys as if they were some new wonderful invention that Willy had been hiding from Charlie._

_"Wil?" The first word he'd spoken all morning. Something didn't feel right. "What's this about?" Willy, who had been walking hurriedly between the adjacent rooms, stopped in front of Charlie and stood there, silent, staring at the young man. He had a look on his face that was similar to the one he'd had twelve years prior when Charlie declined his first invitation to the factory. He said nothing. Slowly, his expression changed and Willy extended his right arm, as if to rest his hand on Charlie's shoulder. He remained oblivious to Wonka's still form. It wasn't until Willy's chiraptaphobia got the best of him and stiffly flexed his hand, that the sounds of squeaking leather brought Charlie's gaze up to meet his benefactor's. For one long second they merely watched each other, still in silence, before Willy suddenly snapped out of it and returned to his unknown and busying tasks, preparing for his trip._

Charles jumped, startled again. In his stupor he hadn't even realized that not only had the elevator arrived, he'd boarded it and already arrived at the office. His trance had been broken by the huge ominous clunking noise the elevator made when it changed gears or tracks. There was a ding again, and the doors slid open. He shuffled onto the carpet, his eyes not quite seeing everything in the room. Or, series of rooms, perhaps. The walls and floors were a soft bright white, and in the center of the wide and short rectangular room stood two decadent yet simple, dark mahogany executive desks. They were angled, to slightly face each other. There were no phones or computers on either, however Nerd candy filled glass lamps did rest on the furthest opposite ends of the desks. It wasn't quite known how they were powered, as there were no electrical outlets in the room.

The desk on the left had the famous 'W' logo inlayed on the front panel in a white to match the carpet and walls. It was immaculate, shiny, and only contained a small stack of stationery and a matching burgundy and gold pen on its surface. The desk on the right, however, while matching in almost every way, had a mess of papers, and the pen was cast tiredly among the pile. Also, instead of a Wonka logo on the front of the desk there was a similarly-styled C, also matching the whites in the room.

There was also one other difference between his own desk and Willy's that made Charles' hair stand on end and every cell in his being flash-freeze. He felt nothing but was certain there was a chill running up his spine as once again, a strange warmth filled the room. His cheeks flushed.

Lying in the very middle of the pile of papers was a small four-inch square red and white box of strawberry flavored, chocolate coated fudge.


End file.
